


Accidentally Invincible

by arbitrarybookshelf



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarybookshelf/pseuds/arbitrarybookshelf





	Accidentally Invincible

“I WILL KILL DEMON”

 

The Jester’s will had read.  Happy to be put to death and making promises beyond the grave and indeed beyond his control.  There was a chuckle from the shadows,

“You _can’t_ kill me.” A self-assured Demon spat at the corpse.  The rest of the town started to retire. He was right of course.  After building a reliable a case against the Jester, Demon had abstained from the final vote, meaning he was free of the curse.  But to the young Mafioso, Demon’s words were tempting, and seemed fit to be his last.

 

—

 

“No.”

“What? Why?” The Mafioso wasn’t prepared to have his desires quashed so absolutely.

“We already have a target.  Our Consigliere found the Sheriff last night, and as you know, with such a high profile we have to be as _efficient_ as possible.”

“But Sir -“

“I SAID NO! I will not sacrifice a victory to settle a petty grudge.” The Godfather had spoken.  There was nothing more to be done.

“If I may…” The prying voice of the Blackmailer wafted over from the back of the room, “I could silence the Sheriff. Just for a day.  Give the boy the chance to lead a kill.  It’s good experience.  Maybe Demon is worth it? We won’t _know_ otherwise.”  The Godfather sighed.  He knew nothing would truly be lost but with the town gaining intel every day he was reluctant to wait.  

“Very well.” He gestured to the Consigliere, “Keep an eye on Demon.  If he is immune, as he claims, I don’t want this night to be entirely wasted.”

A little nod to the group and the meeting was dismissed.  The Mafioso could barely contain his excitement.  With a gratified smile he set to work writing his death note and disappeared into the night.

 

—

 

Approaching the house of Demon, the Mafioso took to the shadows.  Peering through the kitchen window he saw the back of a head.  He pulled out his gun, stopped, took a breath, and shot.  He watched as the body sagged forward and hit the ground.  The work was done.

 

—

 

Daylight was a welcome sight.  The Mafioso practically flew out of his house and into the square.  He froze in dismay at the scene.  Demon was standing across from him, unscathed, and the body of the Consigliere lay broken and bloodied on the cobblestone.

The Coroner emerged from the crowd, silenced the meaningless chatter and set to work.  It was announced that the Consigliere had been shot, by a member of the Mafia.  From his position the Mafioso saw the Blackmailer turn pale, and the Godfather stared daggers back at him.  

Another poor soul had died from the misdirected Jester’s curse, but he’d been a member of the town so it didn’t trouble the Mafioso’s thoughts for long.  All he could focus on was the beating he’d get in the briefing room that night.  

 

— 

 

“Do you want to try and explain yourself or shall we just get on with it?”  The Godfather looked more tired than cross.  The loss of the Consigliere had set them back in their advantages too far for his liking.  

“Sir there’s nothing I can say -“

“You’re right.  There isn’t.  We don’t even have the report.  How did this happen?  I know I shouldn’t have put my trust in an _amateur_.” The Mafioso looked down at the ground. His eyes stung in shame as he held back a pathetic sob.

“Make him do it again.” The Blackmailer spoke up in a choked yet determined voice.

“What?” The Godfather growled 

“Make him do it again.  Get it right.  We can’t let this Demon escape. It’s cost us too much.  It will set a bad precedent.”  The Blackmailer’s words fell sharply.  The town had indeed been talking about the incompetence of the mafia during the day, some had even floated the idea of a witch but the Mafioso knew that wasn’t true.  He hadn’t been controlled, he was completely within his own mind.  And somehow Demon got away.  

“Boy.” The Godfather startled the Mafioso out of his idle thoughts, “Go. finish the job. And for your sake, get it _right_ this time.”

 

—

 

The Mafioso wrote his death note that night with a vigour and a hatred he had never felt before.  He was going to make Demon suffer with every fibre of his being.

The night was a haze as the Mafioso set out to murder his target.  He moved with purpose, but not a purpose found by confidence, a purpose of revenge.  Demon had to die.  There was no question of that. 

 

—

 

Demon was feeling a little too sure of himself.  His taunting allusion of invincibility was too tempting for the mafia to ignore, as he rightfully assumed.  The only luck involved was the target he’d chosen to switch himself with that night.  With one fell swoop the Consigliere was dead.  He’d tried not to look too pleased with himself the following morning when the mafia had been made aware of their mistake, but that was an almost insurmountable challenge. 

Demon had to think hard tonight.  Once the Mafia had realised their mistake, would they strike again?  Or would they give in and find another target?  Demon didn’t favour his chances, and took caution.  He switched himself with someone reserved, someone who’d not spoken much during the trials.  Who knows?  Maybe he’d catch an arsonist in the meantime.

 

—

 

Daylight fell on the gallows in the square as the town began to convene.  The Mafioso immediately regretted showing himself at all.  The cobbles were clean, but for one body lain almost ceremoniously on the steps.  The body of the Godfather.  

The Mafioso heard nothing as the coroner’s report was read.  Not even as his own death note “DIE DEMON-pillion SCUM!” was repeated for all to hear.  The town rejoiced in blurred cheers at the Godfather’s death and the Mafioso was engulfed in rage.  He locked eyes with the cocky demon bastard across the square. Demon smirked. 

 

—

 

With hateful reluctance the Mafioso was promoted that night.  The Blackmailer had barely spoken a word to him since the trial.  The town had ceased to lynch people in the belief that the Mafia would wipe themselves out.  They’d gone to bed praising the work of the Transporter or Witch or other godly power that had protected them thus far.  

“Well, _Sir_.  Who am I blackmailing tonight.” The Blackmailer had lost all her emotion, leaving a dead, ghostly look upon her face.  

“We don’t have to do this.  We both know you’re more qualified to give orders than I ever will be.”  She raised an eyebrow, and seemed to approve of at least one decision he’d made recently.  The Blackmailer left.  On his own for the first time since that morning the Mafioso briefly considered turning his gun on himself, but banished the thought as quickly as it had come, for he didn’t want to have to face the Godfather in the afterlife.  

 

—

 

Five townspeople lay dead that morning, the Mafioso looked with unfeeling eyes upon the bloodshed.  He’d managed one kill of his own, a spy who had no doubt been watching his attempts and mocking him.  A previously unknown arsonist had incinerated the rest, the smell of burnt flesh brought the Mafioso back to reality as he looked around the square.  The body nearest to him resembled the Blackmailer, charred and disfigured as it was.  The remaining survivors included himself, Demon and two other folk he assumed were innocent members of the town.  

With a start, the Mafioso realised what he must do.  There was no way of killing Demon at night.  If he targeted him again the most likely scenario would be that the crafty Transporter would only switch with himself, making the Mafioso commit suicide.  He looked again at the remaining townspeople.  One among them must be the arsonist, so all he needed to do was convince the survivors that Demon was guilty.  The arsonist would likely jump at the chance of a scapegoat, and the other vote wouldn’t matter once Demon was on the stand.  

“Everybody,” He addressed the town,  “I have information.  Demon is the arsonist, we have to catch him quick or we all die.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” As predicted, the Arsonist piped up, thrilled at the opportunity to evade capture.  

“Guys he’s lying.  I’m the transporter.” Demon interjected, still too confident. 

“A _likely_ claim!” The other townsperson scoffed, turning against his comrade.  “You expect us to believe that? It’s almost as clichéd as the Serial Killer claiming Doctor.” There was a laugh from the Arsonist as they recalled the first lynching of the game.  

“I’m telling you, I’m innocent.” Demon was starting to lose his cool.  “He’s Mafia! Why do you trust him?!” A questioning look was cast across the square, the Mafioso stood up straighter.  

“I’m the Consigliere.” He lied, anticipating the shock at his fake revelation, “But I can’t kill.  Trust me once, and save us all from burning to death.” He’d done all he could.  The Mafioso cast his vote without hesitation and the others followed suit.  Demon was forced to the gallows while the others decided his fate.  

“If I was the arsonist, I couldn’t strike again until tomorrow night.” Demon pleaded, keeping his voice as level as he could  You’re safe from incineration until you’re doused. And none of you are doused currently.  If he’s the last mafia member he would be the Mafioso, even if he wasn’t before he can _kill_ you now!” His words struck fear into the last innocent soul, who realised his mistake too late.  With a 2-1 vote in favour of his death, Demon shot a look at the Mafioso, replacing his final words with a look of resignation. 

When the coroner revealed his innocence, the last of the townsfolk gave a shout.  The Lookout was dead before he hit the ground.  The grim-faced Mafioso slid his gun back into his jacket.  He shook the Arsonist’s hand.  The Arsonist smiled.

 

“Good Game.”


End file.
